Funeral
by V.Buttons.P
Summary: 'Do you believe that he loved you' John shoves his hands in his pockets, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. He grips the watch tightly in an attempt to ground himself. He forces his emotions away and into a small box, locking it securely deep inside. 'I…I used to think he did. (Post-Reichenbach; Implied Johnlock; Grief; Mourning; Other Holmes)


He reverts to being a soldier, calm and collected, to survive the funeral without falling apart. He holds his head high when they put the casket in the ground and cover it in earth. He doesn't move from his post until it is finished, some part of him determined to ensure it's a proper burial. When he finally looks up from the fresh mound of earth, he thinks his heart might leap out of his chest. It takes only a moment, though, for the illusion to shatter: the face watching him from the woods is too old to belong to him. John takes his time walking over, following him deeper into the trees. He stops a short distance from the man, feet shoulder width apart, his back straight.

'Sherrinford.'

'Captain Watson. How I wish we were meeting again under happier circumstances.'

John simply nods since he doesn't trust himself to speak. Sherrinford's eyes travel over him, no doubt reading him in an attempt to discern his state. John feels himself close up even more. He sees sorrow flicker across Sherrinford's features.

'It's not healthy, Captain, to suppress one's emotions in such a way.'

'I'm not a Captain anymore.'

Sherrinford arches a single brow, the expression achingly familiar.

'Are you not? I feel I must disagree with that statement.'

John watches as Sherrinford removes and lights a cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke after a moment.

'How did...?'

'Mycroft contacted me. He felt I should know what happened.'

John's heart starts pounding at the name, anger flooding him at the still-raw wound created by Mycroft's betrayal.

'I'm sorry, but your anger won't bring him back, Captain. Despite what appears to be a commonly held belief, Mycroft did and does care for his family.'

'Forgive me if I don't believe that.'

Sherrinford's eyes follow his cigarette as he flicks the ash away from himself, his voice gentle.

'Then what is it you do believe?'

'I believe in him… I believe he was a brilliant, clever man… He was no fraud.'

Sherrinford's gaze pins him and John knows the next question before it's asked. He's asked himself the very same one hundreds of times since that awful day. The smile Sherrinford offers is a small comfort.

'Do you believe that he loved you?'

John shoves his hands in his pockets, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. He grips the watch tightly in an attempt to ground himself. He forces his emotions away and into a small box, locking it tightly deep inside.

'I…I used to think he did.'

'Used to?'

John's mask cracks as he looks away, but not before Sherrinford is able to glimpse what John is trying to hide from the world. He feels something tighten around his chest when he realises how horribly Sherlock's death has affected John. How deep the pain truly runs. When John faces him again, the walls are back up.

'Is there something you need, Sherrinford?'

'You may not choose to believe me about this either, but John… He did love you. I suspect even more than you realise. If you can believe nothing else, please believe this.'

'How could you possibly know that? We only saw you for a brief time that night.'

'It was enough for me to know that he felt something for you that he had never felt for anyone else in his life.'

He grips the watch as if it is the only thing holding him together.

'Why are you telling me this?'

'I am telling you because you need to hear it. You can lock your feelings away for now, Captain, but one day you will have to face them or they will destroy you. I hope that when that day comes, the information I've shared with you will help you to survive it. I've lost a brother; I hope to avoid losing the man whom I would have been proud to call my brother-in-law.'

Sherrinford begins walking deeper into the forest, leaving John to wonder how he could have possibly known that they had talked about marrying. He knows he should offer Sherrinford the watch, that he really has no business keeping it. Instead, he maintains his hold on it as he turns his back to Sherrinford and slowly makes his way back to the grave, casting one last glance at it before proceeding to the car waiting to take Mrs. Hudson and himself back to Baker Street.

Sherrinford stops after a short time and listens for the sound of John's retreating footsteps to fade. As he takes one final pull on his cigarette, another man moves to stand across from him.

'He had no choice, Sherrinford; he had to jump. There was no room for sentiment.'

'There is always a place for sentiment, Mycroft, and _we_ had a choice. We chose to place this burden on his shoulders and he is not the only one carrying it. John does not deserve to have to suffer through this farce.'

'The good doctor is a strong man, Sherrinford. He will survive. Sherlock has a job that he must complete.'

Sherrinford meets his brother's gaze and holds it.

'And what will happen if he doesn't survive?'

'Balance of probability… He'll see to it that England burns.'

Sherrinford pulls out another cigarette for himself and offers a second to Mycroft. They stand in silence for a moment, both gathering their thoughts.

'I still don't agree with this plan, Mycroft. The only reason I am keeping his secret is because he begged me not to tell him. But he should not have to cut out his heart in order to protect it.'

'He should not have allowed himself such vulnerability. He believes, as do I, that John knowing the truth would only be a hindrance. As you've no doubt noticed, he's a soldier first and a doctor second. He would try to follow Sherlock, try to help him in some way. He would only be a distraction. This is the only way that he can completely concentrate on his task.'

'And when did you remove your heart, brother dear? I don't remember you being this callous before you sent me away.'

Mycroft glares at Sherrinford, not pleased to be reminded of his past weakness.

'I believe you've overstayed your holiday, brother mine. I would hate for all of your work to be ruined by our baby brother's fake death.'

Sherrinford looks back toward the graveyard, cataloguing all the changes he has already noticed in John.

'Unless he unravels Moriarty's network faster than calculated, John will have moved past his grief before he returns. He'll find someone else, someone to try to replace the hole in his heart left by Sherlock. Take care of him, Mycroft, because he will need someone to help him pick up the pieces when that happens.'

'You know I will. Sherrinford.'

'Mycroft. May our next meeting be a happier one.'


End file.
